Taken
by Niroveka
Summary: Sent on a mission to discover Saruman's plots turns horrific. A power is unleashed that will destroy all of MiddleEarth...and it will take more than man to defeat it. It will take a friend...turned enemy. NONSLASH
1. Chapter 1

TAKEN

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War-drums rumble. Rain pours down over lines of elves in armor. (Blackout.)

Drums continue. Aragorn unsheathes his sword with a loud ring, his wet hair matted to his forehead, a grim look on his face. He whispers, "Forgive me, _mellon-nin_." (Blackout)

Drums continue pounding. The Tower of Orthanc. A loud roar followed by a bolt of flame rushes down, engulfing Aragorn and Legolas. Sarman's voice: "Is there anything anyone can do to stop Us?...There is nothing you can do to save him, Elessar..." (Blackout)

Drum-beats quicken. A flash of light reveals Legolas' eyes glowing, red as fire, evil apparent on his face. His voice overdubs: "They shall all die!" (Blackout)

Elrond faces Aragorn, forest surrounds them. "He is the Enemy, Estel. There is nothing any of us can do...Legolas is gone, forever..." (Blackout)

Drums beat faster and faster. Flashes show:

An arrow penetrates Legolas' chest.

Gandalf's eyes fill with tears.

Legolas slashes with his knives against an unseen opponent, his eyes aglow with fire and hate.

Aragorn kneeling, arms outstretched, his face turned to the sky, screaming with anguish and desperation.

Another arrow hits the elf.

Legolas strikes Aragorn, sending him sprawling, then attacks him, straddling him on the ground. "You shall die, Elessar!"

Aragorn's voice: "He's my brother! How can I go against him!...How can I face him in battle...?"

Elladan holds a limp form in his arms, tears streaming down his face. "Legolas...killed him..."

Aragorn stands near Legolas. The elf's head is down, looking at the ground. Aragorn: "Is there nothing I can say to prevent you from destroying us all, _mellon-nin_?"

Suddenly, war-drums stop. Legolas' eyes shift up. He smiles wickedly. "No."

(Blackout)

The End

Chapter One

The voice melted over them, chilling them to the bone, piercing into their minds, yet soothing them as well. It seemed to calm their senses, to relax their tense nerves...to assure them their enemy was not as he seemed.

Aragorn, Ranger of the North, however, knew better than to let his guard down. His experiences had taught him one thing: never trust someone who refuses to show his face.

Legolas, ernil of Mirkwood, stood poised beside him, his own instincts forbidding the slightest momentary ease of mind. His fingers stroked the bristles of the arrow-feather, sliding down to clasp the bowstring between his fingertips.

They stood side-by-side, gazing up at the immense tower before them, black as ebony, though what the edifice was actually made of no one knew, save those that had created it so many centuries ago. They stood there, wondering how much longer they could endure the scoffs and mockery that rained down on them from above.

Though prepared to do whatever necessary to stop their enemy, he had not yet even revealed his face to them. Legolas suggested to Aragorn that he stood near the veranda on the top story, looking down on them from the broad window, able to keep out of sight. Wherever he was, Aragorn growled back, he was a coward; only cowards would taunt their enemies while in hiding.

The voice flooded back over them once more, menacing, haunting, still possessing that power unlike any they had ever heard. It was deep and guttural, clear and cold.

"Do you think there is anything rangers and elflings can do to stop me?" it asked. "Is there anything anyone can do to stop Us? You are all too weak and desolate to prevent our union...Gandalf Greyham was very foolish to send youngsters on such a dire—and hopeless—mission."

Legolas tensed and drew his bow sharply, aiming at the veranda where they supposed their mocker to be. "He dares to mock Mithrandir!" he gritted between his teeth.

Aragorn laid his hand on his arm, reassuringly. "Patience, mellon." Legolas reluctantly lowered his bow, but his bright eyes still searched for sign of the Wizard.

Saruman laughed at the young elf's temper. "So, Legolas Thranduilon, you believe you can defeat me?" he guessed at his thoughts. "Are you so trained and cunning to defeat a Maiar? Do not think of yourself so highly...those that think much of themselves are doomed to fall."

The irony of his statement made Aragorn sniff with a sad chuckle. 'Then you have a long way to fall, Saruman,' he thought.

The White Wizard turned to the Dunedan. "You believe you are better as well, Aragorn, son of Arathorn? You propose that a disinherited heir has any hope of stopping Us?" His voice grew deeper and slower. "We shall see, Thorongil, we shall see..."

The veranda was suddenly lit with a brilliant light, blinding the friends though they were hundreds of feet below. An unseen power threw them to the ground, holding them down, confusing them so they could not tell which way was up. It held them there, forcing them down into the earth; Aragorn tasted mud, and found it hard to breath. He looked to Legolas in desperation, but the blonde head was turned away from him, and he could not tell if his friend was having better luck than he.

The stentorian voice resounded down upon them, now angry and malice-filled. "We shall see if you are worthy to be Our enemy! We shall see whether rangers and elves and gnarled, broken wizards are enough to stop the Union of the Two Towers!" Saruman's evil passion was bearing down on them, pushing them deeper and deeper into the earth. Aragorn gagged from the black mud sliding over his tongue, and Legolas choked and sputtered violently, struggling defiantly against the force holding him down.

Suddenly, the power of his staff released them, and instead, pulled them back to their feet in one swift motion, too fast for them to catch their breath. They coughed and convulsed, trying to catch their breath and spit out the slimy ooze at once, all the while waiting apprehensively for the Wizard's next move. They wondered how long his aggressive anger would last, and how long they would have to endure it.

Saruman targeted his one fear: Aragorn, heir of Elendil. Yes, he was the one threat that had the power to defeat Them, Saruman and Sauron, leaders of Middle-Earth. If the White Tree sprang back to life, then Their doom was inevitable. There was only one thing to do...and he would enjoy it immensely. He had waited a long time, conserving his power, storing it away, until now; now it was enough to invoke upon His enemy.

The Maiar walked out onto the veranda, and placed his hand on the large balustrade. The silvery stone set atop his staff glowed and swirled brilliantly; it was in the hands of a Master, and it knew no boundaries. It sparkled and shimmered in the Head Wizard's hands, preparing itself for the long-awaited blow it could feel rising in its Master's grip.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Elendil and Lord of all Gondor," Saruman's eyes gleamed, "You shall defeat us, yes you shall, but only when you discover a way out of our Hold on you!"

There was a tremendous roar, and suddenly a raging bolt of flame shot down at him, billowing and smoking with a thundering fury. His eyes went wide, but there was no time for him to react. Everything slowed; all he saw was the bright blaze reaching out, soon to engulf him. He heard the laugh of the Wizard, the scream of Legolas...he hit the ground... then, there was nothing...

No, he felt the weight pressing down on his chest. He caught the blonde head in his strong hand, gathering the limp form in his arms, his own mind blank and dull. "Legolas?" he whispered. When there was no answer, he pulled the body closer to him. "Legolas...no...Legolas, answer me!"

Saruman ground his teeth. His one chance was had been foiled, his once chance to destroy the Enemy; the elf had thrown himself in front of the flame to protect the Dunedain. He could not believe it. Saruman 'humphed' to himself, anger smoldering inside him. However, a thought suddenly struck him: 'There are other ways to torment the Heir.' Yes, there were other ways...

"There will be no answer from him, ranger," Saruman's icy voice poured down on him in a torrent. "There is nothing you can do to save him. Already Our power is enveloping his soul, and it will only be a matter of time before he shall be Ours!" The Wizard leaned forward over the railing, his eyes piercing and dark, but gleaming with pride and hatred. "There is nothing you can do for him, Elessar, and now you must live with his blood on your hands!"

Aragorn held Legolas' limp body to him, coddling him in his disbelieve and shock. "His blood shall be on your hands...His blood shall be on your hands..." The voice echoed in his mind. He could not think, he could not see past the closed eyes and pale face that lay pressed against his chest. As the Wizard finally disappeared from the balcony however, Aragorn's trained instincts urged him to flee as fast as he could. The ranger hoisted himself onto Roheryn's back, pulling Legolas up with him, and grasped his friend's motionless form between his arms. With a hurried kick to the horse's ribs, he quickly made for their camp, putting distance between themselves and the dreaded Tower of Treason.

Treason.

That's exactly what he had done. Saruman...they had trusted him. He had betrayed them...As they raced through the forest, Aragorn realized all of Gandalf's suspicions were most likely true. Saruman did know where the seeing stones were, and, most likely, had one of his very own. The Grey One had long suspected the movements of his fellow Maiar, and had feared that the truth of his doings would be disastrous. He was reluctant about sending the elf and ranger to investigate, but the Wizard had known he had no choice. Now, with his friend's stricken body in his arms, Aragorn knew that there was no turning back. Saruman the White Wizard, was now an enemy.

He closed his eyes in a sigh for a moment as they rode. He did not know how he was going to tell Gandalf. Saruman had been their friend, their leader...their mentor. They had trusted him, followed him...and now...Aragorn did not know what would happen now


	2. Chapter 2

Roheryn skidded violently to a halt as Aragorn reined him in, just before the smoldering campfire. There was no sign of the Peredhil twins, but at first, Aragorn didn't notice. Sliding Legolas' limp form out of the saddle, he checked the elf's vitals once again; his pulse was strong and he was breathing normally. But the bright eyes remained closed and Aragorn's words of comfort could not break into his consciousness, a sure sign to the ranger that something was dreadfully wrong. What had Saruman done to him? The question had no answer.

Aragorn continued to speak in hushed tones in the elf's ear, praying that the soft elvish would spark something from his friend. He settled him down a few feet away from the fire-pit as comfortably as possible, then undid his own overcoat to make a rough pillow for the elf's head. He sat there for a moment, hunched over Legolas' prostrate form, only looking at his pale face. He didn't know what to do; he didn't even know where to start in an attempt to heal the elf.

The Ranger sighed and rubbed his eyes. He felt light-headed himself, and slightly nauseated. He eased himself to the ground, crossed his legs and clapped his face in his hands, his temples throbbing. All he could think to do was sit and wait for his brothers to return from their venture, in search of Radagast the Brown Wizard. He sighed again, and stretched himself out, covering his eyes with the crook of his arm; he suddenly couldn't think straight, and the events of the past few hours became blurry and muddled, as if someone had poured his memories into a bowl and stirred them vigorously, until he could not tell one thought from the next. The memories of Saruman, the bolt of flame, everything was becoming confused and tangled, warped in a way he could not begin to comprehend.

The next thing he knew, Elrohir was kneeling over him. "Awake, Estel. You've been asleep long enough!"

"What?" Aragorn sat up groggily, running the palm of his hand over his eyes to clear his vision. "Have I been asleep?"

"Aye, muindor dithen, you and Legolas both!" Elladan chided from behind him. "How could you possibly still be sleeping when we're trying to save Middle-Earth from a potential disaster!"

Aragorn looked at the ground, still unsure of his surroundings. "Forgive me, muindor. I...we...we didn't mean to fall asleep...I know Gandalf needs us..." He suddenly stopped.

"Yes, Estel, Saruman's aggression could mean many things, but we have to be sure—"

"Legolas!" Fear leaped into the ranger's chest, though why or how he knew Legolas was injured he could not remember; he only relied on the tight feeling in the pit of his stomach, the clamminess of his hands, the pounding of his heart.

In a flash, he was at his friend's side, worry etched deeply on his face as he felt the elf's neck for a pulse. "He's alright...his pulse is strong..." His voice shook.

"Estel, what is the matter?" Elrohir was at his side, Elladan above him. "Has something happened?"

Aragorn did not reply, almost frantic as he pulled Legolas into his arms.

Elrohir glanced up at Elladan, mounting concern in his eyes. Elladan met his gaze with equal apprehension, then knelt down beside his brothers. "Aragorn, Legolas is fine—Legolas, waken. Ernil!" he shook the elf's shoulder playfully, imagining the humiliated look on the prince's face when he awoke in his friend's arms.

His brow furrowed when Legolas did not respond.

"Legolas?" With deepening concern, the elder twin noticed the closed eyes and the abnormally pale skin, pale even for his Mirkwood kin. "Aragorn? What has happened? We've only been gone a few hours..."

"Legolas cannot be sick...neither of you have arisen since we left this morning," Elrohir added, knowing that their companion had not been ill the night before. His voice deepened in sudden warning. "Aragorn, did you and Legolas leave the camp this morning? That is not what we agreed upon."

Aragorn shook his head numbly, holding Legolas closer. "I...I don't know...there's nothing there...I don't remember anything...Nothing since last night..."

The Peredhil twins gaped, alarm apparent in their manner. "Aragorn, think!" Elladan urged him. "I do not understand...You don't...remember? What do you mean?"

"I don't remember anything!" Had Aragorn been a child then, he would have been wailing with confusion and fright; now, he could only hold his friend close and scream at himself to dig through his thoughts. "I...I remember sitting here last night...you said you would search for Radagast and return when you had found him...and Legolas and I..." he paused, sifting through his tangled mind. "...We were supposed to wait and search the surrounding area for any unusual signs of activity."

"And did you?" Elrohir's voice held warning. Elladan touched Aragorn's shoulder and searched for his eyes, the dark brown penetrating the silver-blue, seeking to assist the man in anyway he could.

Aragorn gazed into Legolas' almost white face, his mind in anguish, his consciousness screaming at him to remember the truth. But it would not come. There was nothing past falling asleep the previous night; as far as he knew, he had just awakened to find the twins by his side...and Legolas ill. He closed his eyes in exhaustion and hung his head, the weight of helplessness bearing down on him. "I don't know! Elladan...we didn't do anything! Legolas must have become ill through the night, I swear it!"

Aragorn was becoming increasingly panicked. Elladan tightened his grip on his shoulder, and Elrohir draped his arm over him. "All right Aragorn, all right, we believe you." Aragorn's erratic behavior was beginning to worry them. "Let us go," said Elladan. "The sooner we return, the sooner Adar and Gandalf will cease worrying for us. We are already a few hours behind, and...I do not know what to do for Legolas. He does not even have any fever or sweating; he lacks symptoms of any disease that I know of. Adar will know what to do. He must know."

The twins quickly broke camp, explaining to a still dazed Aragorn that they could not find Radagast, though they had searched everywhere. They knew the Wizard's hermit-like ways, and knew that if he did not want to be found, there was nothing anyone, not even Gandalf, could do to find him. They could not waste much time; Lord Elrond had given them specific instruction to hurry back as soon as possible, only staying long enough to find the wandering Wizard, and scout out the surroundings of Orthanc, without being seen. If Saruman was truly in league with the Dark One, there would be evident signs, and Mithrandir had told them to return as soon as they had any information or suspicions.

"Well, so much for evidence," Elrohir muttered into his pack. "All this way and nothing!"

"Nothing!" Elladan was taken aback. "Do you mean that you want Saruman to be our enemy, Elrohir? I cannot believe that you would desire such a thing, just so that your travels and inconveniences would be worthwhile?"

Elrohir looked up, a shocked thoughtfulness on his face. There was silence for a moment. "I...I did not mean..." he hung his head. "Forgive me, Pere, I did not think before I said that. It's not what I meant at all."

Elladan retightened the saddle strap. He patted the horse's neck, a sudden sadness in his posture. "I know, Dhil, I know. I can only pray that the evidence we could _not_ find is enough to proof that Saruman is...still our friend."

The Peredhil twins dropped silent for a moment, each realizing what the consequences could be if Saruman was truly their new enemy. It would shatter many things for their family, and for the world they lived in.

In a few moments, the foursome set out, hoping now to return faster than they had left, with fear for Legolas, and with their tidings, whether good or evil they did not know. Aragorn seemed better: his head had cleared and his limbs strengthened. Whatever the reason for his panic, it seemed to be wearing off, thank the Valar. He still clung to the prince in his saddle, but the twins could see that he was returning to his normal self. It gave some encouragement to their wilting hearts, the apprehension of facing Mithrandir without Radagast continuously in their minds.

They rode with all haste, but they could not forget about Legolas. Every few hours they paused and let him rest, hoping that he would soon awaken. But to no avail, the archer remained unconscious and unresponsive, even to Aragorn's incessant pleas. The further they went without sign from him, the more the three brothers began to fear that it was more serious than even they had first thought. Every hour began to make a difference; Aragorn began to fight for pushing onward, insisting that it was better to arrive sooner and be wearied than rested and in worse condition. Finally, the twins agreed. After that, they pushed on with all the speed of a storm, knowing that time was of the essence.

After what seemed endless hours to Aragorn, he saw familiar sights, flooding him with hope that they were not too late for Thranduilon. The forests were tinted with gold and red, a sure sign that all was well in Imladris. The mountains to the left were still covered with a mist, but the sun broke through, filling the valley with an amber light. As they rode, the Ranger could feel his body being soothed, as if the very air he breathed was an emollient for his soul. He felt himself calming, his quick breath slowing, and he knew all would be well; they were coming home, where all was safe for a time. He did not know how short a time it would be.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three 

Legolas fell into Elrond's arms, the fair hair gathering in wisps on the lord's shoulder and sleeve.

"What happened, Aragorn?"

The Master of Imladris pulled the prince from the horse while his son dismounted; sweat had formed on both their foreheads, and even though the ranger's hands had calloused from his long years of riding, his hands were now red and swollen from Roheryn's reins.

"What happened?" Elrond demanded again, when no one offered an explanation.

"We don't know, Adar," Elrohir ventured.

His father turned on him suddenly, his brows furrowed in suspicious doubt, but he said nothing yet. He and Aragorn took the prince in their strong arms as they made their way up the large marble stairs to the Entrance Hall, and entered the Healing Parlor, the twins following closely.

Not a word of the journey was spoken; only Elrond and his sons mumbling to each other: "Hold his head up!"—"Try not to move him around this corner..."—Be careful!"—"Set him down there..." They gently, but hurriedly laid the archer on one of the various cots that lined the wall, under one of the copper-plated windows.

It was then that Elrond seemed to become possessed by a demon. He practically tore off his outer robes, freeing his arms and legs, sloshed water over his hands, and dashed for the medicinal cabinet on the opposite wall. Elladan later remarked that he had never seen his father move so quickly.

"It's almost as if he expected something to happen to us," he whispered to an equally stunned Elrohir, the hair on the back of their necks steadily rising.

But all other thoughts were soon driven from their minds. Their father sent them in search of Lindir, another healer and dedicated assistant of his lord. Elrohir nearly fled the room in apprehension for his friend's illness—the tension in his father's voice frightened him—but Elladan stayed behind at the last moment as his father's voice stopped him. Aragorn was sitting next to his increasingly pale counterpart, Legolas' hand in his own, all attention given over. Elladan could see that he would have no help from his little brother; the account was left to him.

He did not respond immediately, but slowly unfastened the quiver-strap still around his chest, and quietly set it down.

Even in his disconcerted haste, Lord Elrond noticed his son's despondent and hesitant state of mind. "Elladan?" His voice deepened.

"Adar?"

The dark eyes narrowed, silently warning him not to avoid the subject.

His eldest could not hold his stare, and dropped his eyes. "We don't know what is wrong with Legolas, Adar. We found them like this—"

"—Them!"

"Adar, Estel is fine!"

Aragorn looked up at his father's worried exclamation, and patted the strong hand that grasped his shoulder. "I'm not hurt, Adar," he said, sadly it seemed. He turned back to the fair one lying next to him. The Ranger did not move...only a single tear spilled from his eye, his face suddenly contorting in inner pain. He turned his tortured grayish eyes to his father, silently begging him to help his gwaedor. "You can help him, can you not, Adar?"

"I'll do my best, _ion-nin_. Elladan," the piercing eyes snapped back to him, "Can you tell me anything?"

Elladan looked at the ground in defeat and shame. "Nay, Adar...We know nothing."

Master Elrond looked displeased, but he did not chide. He nodded slowly, almost (by Elladan's observation) as if he was affirming something to himself. An unwanted apprehension arose once again, an apprehension that...his father knew something, something he had not told anyone.

His thoughts were interrupted, however, when his other half and Lindir walked up beside him.

"You sent for me, hir-nin?" Lindir was at Elrond's side in a flash, his attention completely on his lord's face.

"Lindir, I need your assistance. Hurry!"

So began the long night that lay before them. Elladan and Elrohir would later make mention that neither of the healers voiced the smallest complaint or murmur as they tended to the stricken Thranduilon. They stayed beside him through the night, never ceasing to rest or clear their mind; Lindir did not move without his lord's permission, never allowing himself to be a hindrance or snare to Master Elrond's hurried movements and administrations. And Elrond himself moved with all the grace, love, and skill that the twins had come to expect from him, and more so. It made them proud.

And yet, with each resurgence of determination that arose in their father throughout the long night, a new cloud of doubt and fear crept into their own hearts. Something was terribly wrong. And Estel? His brothers did not even want to think about what effect it was having on him. They had been through so much together—what must he be thinking? If they had known what had caused this malady, perhaps it would help. But to be in the dark, to have questions that had no answers...it must be horrific for him.

Aragorn too, refused to leave his friend's side. He remained kneeling on the marble floor the entire evening, and long into the night, his eyes rarely leaving the wan face and bluing lips. Indeed, until he dozed from his own fatigue, the ranger did not move once, only whispering encouragement at times, begging his friend to hear him and awaken. Nevertheless, Legolas remained silent, and still.

/\/\/\

Elrohir paced the floor for the twenty-seventh time that morning. He looked again at the leaf-pattern of the marble-slated floor of the Outer Hall, noticing again the solidness of the stones beneath his feet. A breeze blew through the open colonnade once more, stirring his dark hair away from his face. He flicked at it in annoyance. "What's taking so long? He said he'd be here by now."

"Patience, Dhil, patience..._Adar_ knows we are waiting." Elladan calmed his brother once more, how many times he had previously done so, he did not know. In truth, he was just as worried and impatient as Elrohir, but he knew one of them needed to keep a level head, or they would impulsively rush in upon their father and stricken friend in a heartbeat, and who knew what mischief they might cause.

It had been a tiresome evening; neither had even tried to rest, as they had known it would be useless. From their rooms, they had ceaselessly looked out over the gardens to the Healing Parlor across the way, to the lamplight that never dimmed, to the family that never left the building.

Elladan tapped his fingers against the stone bench, trying to curb his own restless spirit. It hadtaken too long; _Adar_ said he would meet them in the morning, at the Outer Hall overlooking the garden. The dark hair shifted across his back as Elladan looked behind him to the Parlor, again. There was still no sign of life from inside; the windows remained closed and barred (not even a shadow moved past them) and the lamp that had not dimmed during the night was still aglow, though it must have almost no oil left. To all appearances it was abandoned, mournfully looking out over the Last Homely House and its brooks, courtyards and gardens, which in some distant memory, had once been teeming with peace and happiness.

Elrohir broke into his thoughts. "Do you think Estel's alright?"

Elladan did not answer for a moment. He honestly didn't know what to hope for his youngest brother.

"There's no way of knowing, Elrohir. He is strong though; I'm sure he's alright."

There was a pause. Elladan could feel his twin's piercing black eyes staring down at him. "You don't sound sure."

"I'm not."

"_Ionnath_..." The long-awaited voice snatched their attention.

"_Adar_!"

Elrond stayed them with a movement of his hand. "Please, _yn nîn_...wait..." He moved under the archway slowly, and sunk to the bench beside his eldest, and put his tired face in his hands. The anxious twins heard him sigh heavily; it struck fear in their hearts: it was the same sigh they had heard for years after their mother sailed, the sigh of broken-heartedness, such as no elf should ever need bear. It made their hearts ache.

When it was almost too much for them to wait any longer, their father lifted his head, and gazed at them both tiredly. He did not speak for several minutes, just looking at them in admiration and love. They were such fine sons...he did not deserve them. They gazed back at him curiously, their heads tilted in puzzlement, but they did not speak. They seemed as little elflings again, their eyes confused and questioning, like they had been when they tried to figure out how birds flew, or how the Trees of Valinor had grown simply from Yavanna's voice singing to them. Elrond smiled at them, sad, but comforted by their presence. They had become such fine young elves.

Finally, Elrond broke the silence. "Well, _yn nîn_, he is in the hands of Este now. There is...nothing..." He shook his head. "I can do nothing for him. We must beg Her now."

"_Ada_..." Elladan enfolded his father, his lithe arms encircling his wearied body. Rarely had Elrond needed such comfort; he had always been the strongest in spirit, but now his sons saw his dire need for comfort and assurance. They only wished they knew how to give what as was so desperately needed.

Elrohir knelt in front of them and embraced them both, his head in Elrond's lap, his arms around their waists. The tears, rarely shed, now ran unheeded down the three faces that bore so much resemblance, and the sobs were welcomed without shame. The three held each other with all the comfort they could. As one voice, their hearts cried out to Manwe and Este, begging, pleading for help and consolation and for their beloved friend's life...There was nothing more they could do.

/\/\/\

"It must have been Saruman!" Elrond almost screamed in the Wizard's face. "You know it, Gandalf, but you won't admit it!"

Gandalf remained silent, but raged within. It couldn't have been Saruman, it couldn't! He had known him for millennia, had traversed all of Aman and Endor with him, he had trusted him—No, it couldn't be. Saruman may have erred in finding and using a seeing stone, but this…no, it wasn't true.

"We have no proof, Elrond. Aragorn cannot tell us anything. According to him, he and the prince never left the campsite that morning. How can you blame Saruman for any of this?"

"Because it's the only explanation!" Elrond hung his head as he leaned over the railing in his study. He sighed heavily, wearied from fatigue and worry. "Gandalf, my sons and Legolas were within half a league from Orthanc." The lord looked up into the Wizard's doubting eyes. His voice, though soft, held resolution. "They were close enough to be a target."

The Wizard stared back at him. "I cannot believe that."

Elrond slammed his fist against the balustrade. "Then why did you send them in the first place!" He turned away in frustration, and began pacing the length of the room.

"Elrond, when your sons returned from riding with the Dunedaîn, I knew that I could trust them on this mission. And Aragorn of course insisted that Legolas accompany them. I told him to be on guard for Saruman's..." he paused.

"Lies?" Elrond's voice was cynical.

"No!" the Wizard's voice rose angrily. "To be on guard for Saruman's enticements. He is fearful of the Dark One, and if he believes there is nothing to be done against him, I was afraid he might be trying to join league with Him. But only because he does not see another way out! If this were the case, I would ride out myself and keep him from doing so. _That_ is why I sent your sons, to see what sort of mischief the Dark One has planted in Saruman's fearful state of mind."

Elrond calmed. "Is that why you believe he has one of the _palantiri_?"

"Aye. He said once that the seeing stone would be useful to us; it would help us to check His movements, and prepare for the War that is to come. That is Saruman's weakness: he does not realize the power of Morgoth and his Evil Ones. He even asked me to find..." the Wizard suddenly stopped.

Elrond's head snapped up. "Gandalf..." his voice deepened in warning. "Does he know about...?"

The Grey One met his eyes; they were full of foreboding, more than Elrond had ever seen. There was a disturbing silence, even the birds had hushed their song, and the rushing waters their raging. Gandalf turned away, his gait now shuffling and slow; he seemed to age right before Elrond's eyes.

The Maia sighed tiredly, his hands behind his back, his face overlooking the entranceway of Imladris. "Yes, Master Elrond, he knows of its existence. He does not yet know where Isildur's Bane lies, but he knows that it is a powerful weapon. As I said before, he does not realize _how _powerful the tools of the Enemy are, and only seeks them from a desire to do good." He faced Elrond again. "Saruman is our ally, _mellon-nin_. He may be frightened for a time, and do regrettable things, but if we can convince him there are other ways, he will remain true to us."

Elrond sighed, whether from weariness or relief he was not sure. Whatever the reason, he stood for a moment, still staring into the weathered face of his long-time friend. Could he believe everything he had heard? Elrond wasn't sure, but he was determined to trust Gandalf on this one. He did not want to believe that Saruman had betrayed them either; he was one of their own, one they had trusted. Gandalf must be right: Saruman was their friend, frightened, but not treacherous.

The Peredhil nodded, and motioned with his arm for the Wizard to follow him down the Interior Corridor. When Gandalf stepped in beside him, the lord had to voice one last question. "How do we explain Legolas' illness?"

"I do not know, _mellon-nin_. There are a limited number of possibilities. There are no symptoms?"

"None. Lindir and I sought for everything, but all to no avail. By all appearances, Legolas is simply in a deep sleep."

"You mean as a man sleeps...eyes closed, no thoughts?"

Elrond looked at the ground. "Aye, that is precisely what I mean."

Gandalf said nothing more the rest of the stroll to the Parlor, but Elrond could feel the Wizard's thoughts running wildly, struggling for answers; it made Elrond even more disconcerted and uneasy than he already was. He prayed to the Valar once again; their situation was getting worse.

Gandalf was stopped a few feet before the entrance by a sudden pull on his arm. He turned to see Elrond's face drawn and rigid, his eyes wide and alert.

"What is it?"

Elrond leaned forward slightly, listening to something. Suddenly, fear sprang in his eyes, and he leapt into motion, pulling Gandalf with him. "Something is wrong in there!"

All at once Gandalf sensed it too. A chill came over him, a dark shadow creeping over his spirit. Something was happening.

The Entrance to the Parlor loomed before them; it seemed dark and cold somehow, as if the sun had stopped shining upon it. Clouds seemed to cover the columned causeway as they dashed across it, the darkness seeming to slow them down, the gap ever widening between them and their destination. Finally, after what seemed an eternity to them both, Elrond and Gandalf rushed into the Parlor...and stood aghast at the horrific scene that played before them.

Pandemonium had broken loose. Legolas, once pale and weak, now stood in the center of the room, strong and undaunted by the commotion of the other elves dashing around him. All his attention was on the one he held before him...In his right hand, Legolas held the life of his friend: Aragorn, his _gwaedor_, the one he had loved as a brother, was being choked under his own hand.

Aragorn's breath was short and raspy. His feet were several inches of the ground, and one of his arms was pinned behind him by Legolas' other hand. The sudden strength the prince had was incredible, and Aragorn knew he had no hope of bending it. He clasped the warrior's hand that strangled him, desperately struggling to release his hold, but it was useless.

Legolas' eyes were aglow with fire, a swirling redness of evil and hatred. He stared at the gasping edan in his hand. He felt the life-blood slipping through his fingers. The elf smiled...It felt good to kill.


End file.
